Beyond The Finish Line
by BTS-ARMY
Summary: Ivan Braginsky was used to one night stands. He was the acclaimed NASCAR racer with millions of fans worldwide, but after placing yet after in the second place a mysterious man named Yao offered him a night of loveless fulfillments. Love, lust, what is the difference? RoChu. Car Racing AU.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday! Best wishes for the new year!

-Even though this is rated T, there will be profanity ahead (I hate using them, but they are essential to the atmosphere of the story) and highly suggestive sexual material. Yes, consider this a warning, this is a very sensual fic (at least I hope so :x)

-OOC! I really took my liberty with characterization on this one, however I do hope you will still enjoy reading about Yao and Ivan.

-I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

 _The thought of him was intoxicating. We drove fast…and died young._

The world breathed in utter silence. In that soundless void, darkness was the only occupant quietly roaming the unseen corners. Far off the distance, something perspired. A droplet suspended in air before sending ripples across the darkness. Then he opened his eyes.

The sun glared down from above and the world was buzzing with loud and intangible shouts. Shielding his eyes from the persistent sun, he watched the rows of cars raced one after another. Cheers and hollers erupted from all around him, and the smell of sweat hang beneath the excitement of the audience. The observing man with one hand above his head looked calmly at the spectacle; his amber eyes obscured by shade directed its gaze on the cars zooming with ostentatious speed. They were all adorned in bright and vibrant colors; little boxes dashing towards the finish line, each one more determined to out-speed the other. They reminded him of the race car set he got for Christmas when he was a little boy. The same designs, the same size from where he was standing and they both offered the same amount of amusement. The man rubbed the corners of his eyes.

Constant voices blared on the speakers as the hosts informed the audience on updates and offering information that ranged from relevant to things that nobody cared. The crowds cheered for their favorite racers, roars of "Jones" and "Beilschmidt" filled the air. People seemed to be more anxious about the results than the racers themselves, but of course no one could see the faces of intense concentration and agitation inside plastic helmets.

 _Zoom zoom_. They were getting closer now. After over four hours of driving in circles, the champion was about to be revealed. People's voices increased with the ticking clock along with racers increasing their speed. Then as the cars approached their last round on the racetracks, the winner became evident. Proclaiming loudly about the champion, the hosts announced simultaneously as the cars soared over the painted white line marking the end of another race.

"GIVE IT UP FOR OUR FIFTH TIME CHAMP, ALFRED F. JONES WINS HIS FIFTH NASCAR SPRINTCAR CHAMPIONSHIP!"

People went wild screaming for their golden boy. As the auditorium became infested with standing ovation, the long-haired man reluctantly left the comfort of his seat and clapped indifferently. His attempt at enacting enthusiasm was overshadowed by the fists in the air and the deafening applauds.

Returning back to his seat once the crowd had declined in its overbearing passion, he strained his eyes to look at the racers coming out of their respective cars. The young champion was greeted by his team tackling him in hugs, and smiling brightly he waved to his fans.

In only a few years, the hot-blooded youth has dominated the NASCAR tracks with groundbreaking records and winning over the hearts of millions. But while the majority of the people cheered for the champion, the seated man diverted his attention to the second place.

Ivan Braginsky was it?

Throughout the race, he was always head to head with Jones and never dropped from top ten. Trained from a young age in Russia, his reputation was well-known among die-hard fans and race car elitists. Despite not lacking in skills or determination, he had never placed first. Some even joked that he had cheated on Lady Luck for him to always get the short end of the stick.

Even as words of congratulations came flooding in his direction, the Russian man smiled conservatively. Beads of sweat dripped down from his chiseled chin and fell to the smooth ground.

His eyes wondered aimlessly through the adoring fans. A perpetual smile stayed frozen on his face, never faltering-never displaying anything more than that. The racer swiped the perspiration of his face and walked away from the race tracks.

Behind him, fireworks bursted through the night sky, vivid colors ignited the otherwise black sky. Each sparks of fire drew a pattern into the sky, something unique and breathtaking, never to be repeated exactly no matter how many are ignited and sent to their sky-bound destiny.

The racer stopped and listened to the celebration in all of its grandeur, yet he never looked back at the brilliant vermillion.

Among the crowds, the amber-eyed man stared knowingly at the night sky. He gazed silently as the world around him was still raving in contagious happiness. Then as if he saw something written in the burning lights, he smiled mysteriously.

* * *

The after party was in full swing by the time the ebony-haired man found the location of the hotel. The whole building was already booked for the night, and music could be heard from three blocks over. What used to be the ballroom had transformed into a lavishly decorated nightclub containing drunken elites and frenzied fans who had paid their ways in. The music was as loud as thunder with neon lights flashing as if they were the accompanied lightning. Sweaty bodies dominated the dance floor writhing and grinding against each other in shameless manners. The smell of sex permeated the air in a choking aroma bringing strangers together for one loveless night of passion fulfilling nothing more than bodily needs.

Carefully avoiding coming into contact with the adrenaline-filled bodies, the man hesitantly made his way through the crowds. If it weren't for the drug and alcohol induced visions, any one could have seen that the man was a glaring eyesore among the horde. He appeared to be looking for something, or perhaps someone, as he scanned through the mass, eyes darting back and forth for a hint of beige locks. Then ever so slightly, the corners of his lips lifted upward.

The Russian racer sat on the stool slowly twirling his drink with his elbows on the glass table. He hadn't taken a single sip and the ice cubes had already melted halfway, yet there was this calmness on his face that seemed to suggest he was in no rush for anything that night. The bartender had attempted small talks with the racer earlier but the conversations always ended with a tight smile on the Russian's face and lack of response. While most racers were busy getting drunk and high or mingling with fans, the second-place seemed to be in deep contemplation about the melting ice cubes in his glass. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft cough behind and he turned his head around.

"Congratulations," the man cleared his throat. "That was really good today."

"Thank you," the racer said politely before turning his back on the man.

Faintly aware that the stranger was still fixed in his spot, Ivan made no effort of acknowledging his presence. Just when he thought he would get the hint and leave, the stranger took the stool next to him.

"May I sit here?" he asked.

"Please," Ivan nodded in his direction. Well he couldn't exactly say no when he was already sitting there.

Silence ensured for the next few minutes between the two in a room of pulsing music and voices. The bartender came over to the newcomer and asked for his choice of preferred beverage.

The man gave a small wave with his hand. "No thank you," he said.

"You sure you don't want any? We got the best martini in town."

The man smiled apologetically. "Really it's fine, I don't drink alcohol."

The bartender shrugged and went back to the other end, leaving the two strangers in silence again.

Ivan eyed the clear liquid and the now tiny glass-like cubes. He paid no attention to the man sitting beside him; in fact he hadn't even spared him a single glance.

"Is that vodka?"

Chuckling a little to himself, Ivan replied. "Are you usually this bad at hitting on people?"

The man was unfazed. "What if that was a serious question?"

"Then yes, it is vodka."

"Hmm heavy," the man mused. "And are you having fun looking at your drink?"

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" He turned his eyes away from the glass and looked at the unwelcomed intruder.

"Everyone starts out as strangers don't they?" The man tilted his head and leaned on the table. "My name's Yao Wang, and you're Ivan Braginsky. There you see, now we know each other."

"How do you know-" He paused. "Wait, that's a silly question."

"Everyone here knows who you are," the man who called himself Yao smiled. "It's not every day that you get to talk to the acclaimed NASCAR racer."

"I take it you're a fan?"

"Sure," he answered nonchalantly.

Ivan raised his eyebrows at the suspicious man. "You don't sound convinced."

"Convince me then," he said sweetly. His lips stretched into a thin smile, and although they were a little dried up and chapped Ivan couldn't help but want to touch them. Now that he was facing him, Ivan observed him from head to toe in greater details. The man was of a slim build, yet lean muscles could be seen on his arms where his white sleeves were rolled up. His slender legs were fitted into black trousers that made Ivan wonder if his legs were even paler than the color of his neck and face. The shoes he was wearing were by Salvatore Ferragamo, but the once expansive loafers were now worn out with scratches and dirt. Once he began examining his face, Ivan was surprised to find out that the man was more handsome than he initially thought. Sure, he wasn't breathtaking or anything, and Ivan had certainly seen better, but something about his face was pleasing to the eyes. Though his cheekbones were not prominent, his cheeks appeared smooth and unblemished. His eyes were that of Chinese descent; they were the color of deep brown and there was a hint of gold underneath the orange glow of the light. Long black hair that reached his chest was tied back into a low ponytail and strands of loose hair were tucked behind his ears. Ivan couldn't quite place an age on him; he seemed to be in his early twenties, but there was this maturity to his appearance that caused Ivan to wonder if he was in his thirties.

Ivan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There were always fans who jumped at the chance to get in bed with him, not to mention one night stands where he couldn't even remember the person's face the next morning. And yes, he had been with both guys and girls alike who were willing to offer their bodies on a silver platter. But perhaps due to the lack of alcohol in his system, he contemplated dully on the offer in front of his eyes.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Yao's smile never left his face. "What do you think I'm suggesting?" he asked.

"But you're a man," Ivan stated plainly. "And I'm also a man."

Yao grinned amusingly at him. "Oh yes I'm well aware."

"I'm not interested in guys." He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed the cool liquid in one go. A burning sensation spread though his body, tickling his skin, like ants crawling over his body; he licked his dry lips.

"That's fine," Yao said sympathetically. Tapping his fingers against the glass countertop, he looked around distractingly before returning his gaze at Ivan. "Tell me one thing though," he paused calmly. "Will you think of me when you touch yourself tonight?"

Ivan froze. Blood drained from his face, and he stared at him in disbelief. _What did he just say?_ As much as he wanted to be disgusted by that man's incredulous question, Ivan couldn't help but to entertain that idea. The thought of him nearing his climax as he call out his name…

Yao bursted into laughter and a hint of redness tainted his pale cheeks. "I'm just kidding! Oh my god, are you okay?" With one hand covering his mouth spewing with laughter, he bit down slightly on his hand and looked both nervous and sly. "I'm just playing alright? Really-I… I was kidding."

Ivan opened his mouth to say something, anything, yet no words came out. "Well-I-um…" he stuttered embarrassingly. He knew he looked like a fool, and this inability to form coherent sentences bothered him as much as the thoughts he had from a question that was apparently a joke.

Removing his hand from his mouth, and straightening his back a bit, Yao offered a kind smile. "It was nice talking to you." His words were left unreciprocated. "Um, have a good night… _Ivan_ ," Yao said and stood up from the stool.

Ivan watched as he walked further and further away. Ponytail swinging faintly, the back of his neck exposed under the illuminating light, and hints of shoulder blades showing underneath the white shirt, the stranger called Yao never glanced back. Ivan didn't know why he stood up and ran after him. He didn't know why he felt the strange desire to chase after him. After many years later, he still couldn't understand his reasons. Maybe there were no reasons.

Although heavy stomping resonated around him, Yao could hear the anxious footsteps approaching him even before his wrist was grabbed and he was roughly turned to face the confused looking man.

Yao raised his eyebrow, observing the white-knuckled hand around his wrist. Then he slowly lifted up his head and chuckled, "Yes?"

"Let's go," said Ivan as he tightened his grip on Yao's wrist.

"Where?" If he felt pain, he didn't show it.

"Upstairs."

"To do what?" His smile had become mischievous; he was fully aware of what Ivan was referring to.

"Fuck."

The music filled the air without an effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sands. It was the puppeteer moving people on strings as men and women danced instinctively to the rhythm of each other's heat beats. Deeply scented in pheromones, the room emitted the slow intoxication of fulfillment without commitment, lust without passion, and heat without the comfort of warmth.

It was only a one night stand between the two of them. Both knew the consequences of their action; both expected nothing to come out of a night with a stranger.

Yao didn't speak for what seemed like an eternity. He blinked and said, "Now you're finally being honest."

No more words were spoken as Ivan pulled Yao through the crowds, out of the electrifying ballroom, into the grand lobby of the hotel, and into the elevator ascending up. The whole time his hand never let go of the ebony-haired man.

Once the elevator doors calmly opened, he impatiently led him to the hotel room that was booked for him, and fumbled with his keys as he attempted unsuccessfully to unlock his door. When it was finally fitted, he pushed the entrance open with such ferocity that it smacked the wall with a loud clunk.

Standing only inches apart, Yao felt the other's breath on him and the steady contraction of his chest up and down. They were so close.

"You didn't lock the door," Yao whispered.

He didn't get any reply as the Russian man held his gaze intensely as if they were in a staring contest. Despite of their proximity, neither made a move on each other. They were seizing each other up, daring each other to lose the game of self control. Eventually the game became too predictable and Yao moved his face closer to the other but stopped just when their lips were about to touch. The shortened distance between them at once shattered the constrained lust and Ivan lunged at him, crushing their bodies in a frantic search for quenching an unbearable thirst.

Their lips connected aggressively, seeking for a missing piece of themselves in each other. Demanding and passionate, the kisses escalated quickly from seeking pleasure in soft flesh and exchanging saliva to a chaotic duel where the battlefield was the canal of Yao's mouth. Tongues finding themselves twisting into a complicated knot, it was difficult to breathe under the suffocating heat. After moments of carnal yearning, their mouths broke apart followed by heavy panting. Yao let out a burning ball of air that was searing the walls of his lungs. He threw his head up and closed his eyes as he ravished in the feelings of Ivan's lips on his neck and shoulders. Unbuttoning his shirt with the uttermost restlessness, Ivan practically ripped his shirt open while a few buttons scattered across the hardwood floor. Chuckling at Ivan's impatience, Yao pressed his lips back on the velvet flesh pulling the two of them into another round of animalistic affair.

Drunk on endorphins, his only desire was to touch the Chinese man, to move his hands all over his smooth body and leave inerasable marks ingrained on his skin. These unbecoming thoughts were unpleasant and made him question what they were doing, yet something stronger suppressed these white noises. Urging their bodies tightly together, Yao retreated step by step from the intense pressure and eventually bumped into the edge of the bed. With one hand on his back and another in his beige locks, Yao pulled Ivan down with him as they fell on the silken mattress.

Facing the ceiling above, Yao closed his eyes and let his voice move in correspondence to the waves of pleasure. It was so easy to let everything go; to lose himself in the euphoria of sexual gratification. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to remember. In this moment, he was no longer Yao Wang, but instead a mere human finding satisfaction in another human being. Cool summer air assaulted his skin, yet most part of his body was pressed firmly onto another layer of muscles. Even though he was only under a single man, it felt like a thousand pairs of hands were caressing him, groping him, tearing his flesh apart. A scream echoed the room, or perhaps laughter, he couldn't tell. It was so easy to let everything go.

Ivan spread the smaller man's legs apart and traced his inner thighs with the edge of his fingernail. He was right. Yao's legs were even paler than the areas of his body exposed to public. Digging his thumbs deeply into his thighs, Ivan observed the naked man lying breathlessly on the duvet with black hair scattered across the white pillows in stark contrast. As much as he did not like to admit it, this stranger looked beautiful in this moment frozen in time. _Just another one night stand huh?_ Well it didn't matter, with the approach of dawn everything would end. Jabbing his fingers even further into his upper legs, Ivan discarded his remaining conscious and pulled the man down to meet his urging need.

The hotel room was in maroon red, the color of love and impending danger. The lights were off, yet the room was illuminated by the comfort of darkness, of not seeing, of not knowing. Clothes were arranged in an abstract manner over the floor resembling the likes of a Picasso piece. And on that floor which had been scrubbed and cleaned numerous times, a few buttons sat still. Across the bed, the second hand of the clock moved abidingly between intervals of time. _Tick tok tick tok._ Almost everything in the room was still except for the restless bed that creaked and groaned. The inanimate object wailed vulgarly beneath the applied pressure of two inseparable bodies. Sweat and other liquid soaked the sheets yet the bed continued to protest loudly about its laborious responsibility. Despite the closed windows, cicadas could be heard outside singing its song about the end of summer and the imminent autumn winds. Humming the persistent melody of departure, the cicadas accompanied the city to sleep.

* * *

The lines of glares that shot for his eyelids woke him. He blinked a few times before deciding it wasn't worth it and closed his eyes once again hoping to return to his slumber. However the awareness of being awake made it inconvenient to delude oneself in a sleepless state, so after painful deliberation the Chinese man roused slowly from bed. Rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, he yawned instinctively as drowsiness began to fade. Sitting upright on the bed, he stared blankly at the painted wall. He did not recognize where he was. And intimate brushing of the thick duvet to his bare skin served as evident to the fact that he was naked. Not only naked, but he could feel unwanted substance in the back of his… Yao grumbled and cursed under his breath. Did he have too much to drink yesterday? No, that couldn't be right, he quit drinking years ago. Somehow the realization that he was not under the influence of alcohol made it even worse. _But does it matter?_ _He got what he wanted after all._ Chuckling to himself, Yao looked to the right and accepted the prevailing presence beside him on the bed.

 _He looks familiar_. Then as images from yesterday played like a winding tape in his mind, the stranger's face was being identified. _He's the racer isn't him? Hmm…what was his name? Ivan?_ Yao decided to trust his memory. Glancing at the sleeping man resting next to him, he looked vacantly at his bedmate. He seemed to contemplate something before slumping back into bed and climbing on top of the sleeping form.

Regardless of their nakedness, he casually relaxed himself onto the other man, once more bringing their bodies tightly pressed together. Lightly brushing the tip of his finger against the racer's parted lips, Yao observed him with softened eyes. The hardened face beneath the harsh sunlight appeared so peaceful in his sleep. Long, thick, and pale. His eyelashes looked as soft as silk, and as light as feathers. He once knew someone who had eyelashes as beautiful as those… Although there were dark bags beneath his eyes, they did not take away the serenity of his face. There was an idealized symmetry to his face despite of his almost invisible blemishes. His nose was straight and narrow, protruding in a dominant way, yet not unattractive. Composed of prominent eastern European features, his facial structure was both comforting and nostalgic.

Perhaps due to the closeness of their bodies, the Russian man stirred from his sleep.

Wincing from the tickling feeling of hair on his face, he opened his eyes to the view of another pair of eyes.

"Who…" He began, but stopped as he remembered the events from last night. It seemed like his drowsiness dwindled faster than the other man. "Oh," he said.

"Morning," Yao smiled pleasantly facing the man below him.

Ivan was at a loss for words. Not that he was ever verbose in the mornings; on this particular day he wasn't quite sure how to react to the stranger who just happened to be straddling him. However it was as if a huge cloud had been cleared over his mind when the Chinese man leaned down and kissed him. A huge cloud was cleared, and in its place, a rumbling thunderstorm was replaced.

"Goodbye," Yao said as he slowly took his lips off and lifted himself up from Ivan's broad chest. He never even had the chance to turn around as he was sharply pulled back, lips crushing into where they had last departed from less than ten seconds ago. Ivan ran his fingers through the thick strands of his dark hair and drew circles on his bare back, reigniting sparks in the sensitive spots he had discovered last night. Their kisses triggered burned out passion from last night and unfulfilled longing.

Sitting up with Yao positioned on his lap, Ivan coaxed their bodies into direct skin-to-skin contact. Breaking apart from the kiss, Yao laughed. Ivan thought his laughter was like waterfall.

"You know," Yao muttered as he tilted Ivan's chin up with one finger. "You're the best fuck I had in a while."

Ivan narrowed his eyes at the remark. "In a while?" he repeated the offensive words.

"Well I always wanted to do it with a racer," Yao continued, seemingly oblivious to Ivan's change in expression. "And…" he paused intentionally prolonging the word. "I got my wish granted yesterday by you."

Even though his voice remained good-humored and his smile was plastered on his face, more words were left unsaid. He was only a one night-stand; Ivan didn't have to know who he was.

Feeling the pressure being applied from the bottom, Yao knew another session was approaching. "It's a Saturday today, want me to stay for a little while longer?" Yao asked.

He wasn't anything to him, Ivan knew that fact very well. He also knew that one night stand was supposed to end after a single night. But a little longer couldn't hurt. Besides the sex, he was getting used to his laughter: warm yet distant, an illusion with hints of genuineness. He did not remember his name; _was it Mao? Jao?_ Well he would know by the end of the day.

"Yes," he whispered in his ear before plunging himself deeply into the man he did not even remember the name of.

The clock continued on its unspoken journey of perpetuation. Time began to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain. One more hour. One more night. Nights turned to days and days turned to years. As race cars tested their limits on aged tracks covered by new paint, the swirling brown blur of dust became dispersed across the cloudless sky.

 _TBC._

* * *

AN: Second chapter is coming soon. And as soon as I finish this short story, I'll continue my other fic.

Thank you for reading! It would make me so happy to know if you liked it even a little bit. Reviews are always appreciated~ Hugs and Kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY VANYA! I hope Yao gave you a fulfilling present ;))

* * *

 _We drove fast and died young._

 _Crashing into the gray smoke, I rode into the eternal sunset._

A single golden leaf pirouetted down an invisible spiral of breeze, spinning through the air as it let itself be carried by the force of the wind. It travelled across great distance and blew past his face, landing lightly on the ground. The shiny,vibrant color stood out against the ambers and the bronzes beneath it. It seemed so fragile, he wanted to reach down and pick it up, smoothing out the creases. But something told him it belonged there, the corpse of what was once summer. In the blink of an eye, summer was gone. The world was rapidly shedding off its old garments in replacement for the new, yet here he was, standing in the motor stadium. He had no love for the sport; however it appeared that he kept coming back to the race tracks time after time. He wasn't known to be a persistent person, or at least his determined nature had passed away with his youth, yet he seemed to be unable to move past the painted line.

He came back for him.

Or perhaps it was the other way around.

It made no difference as they both agreed to meet each other for another night. Then another. Well it was rare to find such a competent bedmate, that was their justification. An empty bed became too unbearable to fall asleep in after their bodies were given a glimpse of what it was like to be fulfilled. Not to say they were each other's first; they were far from being that special. The most logical reason for their reluctance to part ways had to be because it was so much easier to stick to what they already knew. They seek warmth not due to the void in their heart, but because of their empty bed.

Back in the audience seat, Yao faced the grand display of speed and human accomplishment with bored eyes. More interested than the first time when he was pushed and squeezed between overly-eager sweaty fans, but nonetheless detached from the spectacle others would pay to see. There was only a single race car prancing over the tracks that day. The car engine roared as it charged vehemently towards the marked goal. Slowing down was not an option, capturing the presence of a beast, with the paws of a lioness, the race car finished its twentieth round around the tracks. Yao was not surprised by its incredible velocity, they said that the racer and his car operated as one when the engine started, he was used to the racer's fast and furious way of expression. Enjoyed it actually…on every night.

Sinking his chin into the high collar of his winter jacket, he breathed out slowly trying to conserve the short-lived heat. According to Ivan he was overdressed these days, however he always replied it was better to be safe than sorry. Clutching a paper bag transcribed with cursive words in his hands, he waited for the racer to end his daily practice.

Ivan stepped out of the car in his tight race suit. High quality leather embraced his every nook and cranny, highlighting the well-defined muscles underneath, and hiding the numerous scars from the expected accidents that came with the fast-paced lifestyle. Confidence scintillated off him as he stood on the pavement, eyes scanning the empty seats until they landed upon a lone figure. He waved to him. Smiling, yet of course the distance between them permitted the Chinese man from seeing the obvious grin on his face.

"Done for the day?" Hands in his pockets, Yao asked. Strolling leisurely towards the man on the race tracks, Yao slowed down his pace and smiled casually as if they were mere acquaintances.

"Yeah…" Ivan replied with equal enthusiasm. "Let's go home."

"It's kind of early isn't it?"

"The sun will be down by the time we get home," he said.

Yao was very aware of the meaning behind his words. They served no purpose to each other except as companions of the night. "Really," he half whispered to himself.

"Da." He heard the question that was never meant to be answered. Immediately realizing he had slipped into his mother tongue, he was just about to explain himself when he saw Yao staring off into the distance. He didn't know what he was looking at, however he didn't want to face whatever that had captured his attention. The possibility of not being able to see what he was seeing was frightening. Silence bounced off between the two of them, although it was comforting to Yao, it crept like poison ivy around Ivan. Abruptly he asked, "Were you watching just now?"

"Watching what?" Yao returned his gaze on Ivan. Maybe it never left.

"Me," he said. It came out a little more awkward than he expected and he winced at his own voice. "I mean, what did you think of the test run?"

Seemingly amused by his discomfort, Yao said, "You were great."

"I could've done better."

"Next time then," Yao muttered wistfully. "I'm sure you will be even better next time."

"Liar," Ivan scoffed. He was glad for the cold weather; for he could blame the redness of his cheeks on the icy wind and not his own childish reaction. "I bet you can't even tell the difference between the velocities," he said with false irritation.

As if he could see right through him, Yao laughed, neither admitting nor denying Ivan's accusation. He walked closer to him until all that was left between them were puffs of cold air. The mouth that emitted laughter just a moment ago now formed into a secretive smile.

"Close your eyes Ivan." His voice low and soft sent chills down Ivan's spine. He could feel the hot vapor from his breath landing on the tip of his lips.

"What are you doing to-"

"Close your eyes," he insisted louder this time.

Ivan stared at him profoundly. Not quite trusting, yet not in defiance either. Yao held his gaze in a challenging way. And in that bold declaration, in those incomprehensible eyes, and in his inviting smile, Ivan closed his eyes. The world closed its binds as darkness became its only guest. Waiting in anticipation, he expected warmth on his lips, a passionate blow to disrupt his senses, yet his mouth only received disappointment. The sound of paper shuffling journeyed to his ears, and he resisted the temptation to peak. Still he kept his eyes shut, in the hopes of being surprised; it had been a long time since anything unexpected happened to him. _What is Yao doing?_ His confusion was only heightened as something fuzzy writhed around his neck.

"Don't move." Yao's reassuring voice stopped Ivan's struggle against the mysterious entity.

What first felt like an execution rope became less frightening as he eased into the feeling of his neck being embraced. The dark faded into shades of grey and outlines could be seen in the highs and lows of monotonous brilliance. Even though his eyes were still tightly locked, he could imagine the Chinese man's nimble fingers carefully wrapping the fabric around his neck. After finishing his masterpiece, he would admire his glorious feat in quiet silence. There! Ivan could see it now. A gleeful grin would appear on his face.

"Okay, open your eyes now."

With hidden nervousness and uncontained curiosity, Ivan peered through the thin lines of his vision, before opening his eyes directly against the beaming light. Blinking several times to get accustomed to his surrounding, the image of the man standing in front of him emerged like an old Hollywood movie with scenes interrupted by cuts and sudden black screens. Eventually the blinking stopped. And there staring at his contagious smile, Ivan thought it was exactly like how he envisioned it.

"Do you like it?" Yao asked almost eagerly.

Tearing his gaze away from him, Ivan looked down and discovered a white scarf enveloped around him. Meticulously knitted to perfection in expensive wool, it was soft to the touch and guarded proudly against the invading wind.

"I…" Ivan didn't know what to say at the extraordinarily ordinary present.

"A simple yes or no will suffice," Yao said teasingly.

He gulped down his bubbling sentiments. Suddenly placing his hand on Yao's waist, he yanked him against his leather-covered torso. "Is this for our two months anniversary?" he smirked.

"Don't mock me Ivan," he answered playfully. "You know exactly about the nature of our _relationship._ "

"Remind me the terms again?" One of his hands reached lower until it stopped above his buttocks. If he remembered correctly, there should still be teeth marks around this area freshly imprinted from yesterday. "You see _Yao_ , I'm starting to think you may actually have feelings for me," he pronounced each word dipped with spite. However as soon as he saw the unchanged expression on Yao's smiling face, he regretted his words. He knew his answer.

Yao was silent for a long time before an answer tumbled out of his sealed mouth. "I like you enough to sleep with you, but that could be said about many other people." His steady voice quivered faintly, yet it was missed by the Russian man. "As for the scarf…well we wouldn't want you to get sick any time soon, would we?"

"I won't get sick."

"In this weather, with what you're wearing, you will," he assured confidently.

"I won't."

"You will."

"I-"

His words were cut off by Yao's lips brushing against his own. Their breaths became mingled. The kiss was slow and gentle, comforting in the way that words would never be. The whole world fell away, and in that indefinable reality his heart soared faster than he ever experienced before in the seat of his race car. He was heading for an inevitable crash, but he couldn't care less.

Breaking their lips apart, Yao said, "See, your lips were cold."

"I didn't know." He did know they were cold before. Yet they became warm after coming into contact with Yao's dimly lit impulse, but now all they felt was numbness.

"Let's get you out of here before you get sick." Both hands on his cheeks, Yao gazed at Ivan with affection. To any normal onlookers, it would be perceived as affection, love even. But Ivan was used to that smile, knew all the things it meant and all the things it didn't mean. He had the same smile when they first met as strangers; the same smile when he let him fucked him senselessly. Ivan had no doubt that his smile was worth as much as a whore's promise, yet another part of him wanted to believe in his sincerity.

It was not clear which one of them was the fool. Perhaps they both were.

In Ivan's conflicted reflection, he didn't realize that Yao had already snuggled out of his arms. It was only from his footsteps, the sound of his boots stepping on dead leaves, that propelled him to reach out to that figure walking further and further away.

"Wait Yao-" he called out after him. "You…you didn't need to get me this."

"I know," he replied without looking back. His voice was carried over by the wind. "But I wanted to anyway."

He was beyond his reach now. "Why are you doing this…" he said knowing that his murmurs would get lost in the autumn breeze. _Why are you doing this to me…_

The melancholy of sour reverie was momentarily subdued as Yao stopped in his tracks and yelled back. "Are you still there?!" he shouted in disbelief. "Ivan Braginsky! Stop daydreaming and hurry up. I'm really leaving you if you don't start moving those long legs of yours!"

Once again, Ivan smiled when it was impossible to be seen by the other man. His legs moved subconsciously in the direction of the standing silhouette. Finally reaching him, he grabbed his hand and held it firmly in his own palm. Even though the distance between them never shortened, Ivan was glad for their fingers which slowly became entwined.

* * *

They had moved from meeting up at hotels to living under the same roof. For convenience's sake, they said. It was Ivan who first suggested that idea one fine evening when they were engaged in strict business matters on bed. Draped over Yao's naked frame, he asked him to move in with him. Yao asked for his address. And the deal was settled the next day. See, strict business matters.

It was a large apartment in the busy streets of Manhattan bought with his handsome salary of over two million annually. The walls were painted with light grey and decorated with minimalistic décor. Consisting of a single bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, and private terrace overlooking the majestic awe-inducing city life, the apartment lacked signs of comfort and homeliness. It resembled a page straight out of a lifestyle magazine; photoshopped and purposely glossed over, looking perfect on the outside.

"Aghhh Ivan!"

The only room that showed taints of residency was the bedroom. Nightly moans erupted from that corner of the apartment, and sheets were seen making trips to the laundry room almost daily.

Digging his fingers deeply into the Egyptian cotton material, with his face planted into the pillow, Yao resisted the urge to let out another scream. He was addicted to pleasure and welcomed the pain that came with it. However tonight it wasn't only his body that had to endure the torment. Whiteness swarmed his vision, and heavy pounding that came from behind him harmonized with the pounding in his head. Maybe from the lack of lubrication used or the persisting migraines that came with overworking, Yao grimaced silently as his insides were stretched to the extremes. Fire spread through his entire body, and sweat dripped down from every curve wetting the thin sheet beneath. The pain was like a branding iron, marking his skin inch by inch with its burning sensation. He was unable to lose himself tonight. Too aware, with his mind on something bitterly trivial, Yao muffled his shouts into the pillow.

"Aghh Ivan-no…Ivan, I-Aghhh!" Twisting his hands into fists while clutching the bed sheet, Yao's legs trembled from the fervent thrusts. They could easily collapse if not for the pair of arms around his abdomen supporting him. Despite of the pain, he relished in the intimacy. It didn't matter if it was only an illusion; he wanted to feel the other close to him. Needed their bodies coming together to be the evident that he was not alone. He wanted to hold his hand. Yet he couldn't even see his face. Hand desperately searching for flesh to hold on to, it squirmed uselessly over the wrinkled linen. _How pathetic._ All he could do was writhe, the occasional whimper escaping to echo off the walls along with the Russian man's unapologetic groans.

He tried to get into the rhythm of their long developed partnership, but something prevented him from achieving full ecstasy. _Stop thinking too much_. Still his mind was haunted by a shadow of a question. Another heated thrust was delivered on him, causing the question to ring like bells filling his consciousness with fear and longing. He had to know. Even if it may break him, he had to ask.

"Ivan…" he moaned hesitantly. "Ivan...I…" He bit down on his lips as his torso was being tightly squeezed. The ravaging behind him never stopped, and he laughed at his degrading position.

 _Fast cars charged across the finish line. Empty beer bottles lay discarded about the smoke filled house. Phone calls straight to the answer machine. His touch…her scent. Withered sunflowers and broken promises. I love you Yao._

He needed to see Ivan; needed to make sure it was Ivan behind him and not somebody else. Paranoia unfurled like ominous clouds over his thoughts, immobilizing his body in fear. Devoid of feeling, it moved obediently in coordination with the propelling force.

No.

He wanted more than this. However this wanting invited more fear. He didn't have the right to ask him that. He was no one to him. He had sex with him the hour he met him. He didn't mean anything to him except a bed warmer to pass through lonely nights.

But he had to know.

"Ivan…" he tried again. "Ivan do you want to-" His words were muffled by both the pillow and the sound of their bodies crushing together. Heat spanned across his face and he knew he couldn't ask him like this. In this position, copulating like two wild dogs.

"Turn me over," he breathed soundlessly. "I want to see your face…turn me over Ivan." His request was met with no response as that man's movement continued vigorously. "Ivan!" he spoke louder this time with a bit more force. "I don't like this position, turn me over!"

Then just as he thought his words went unheard again, he was flipped on his back. Legs immediately winding around Ivan's pelvis area as their bodies lunged to reconnect, he panted heavily, chest rising up and down with obvious fluctuation. His hair slick with sweat clung distractingly to his face and all over the bed sheet. Yao thought he must have looked ridiculous right now. He never perceived himself as very attractive, and in this situation…well he was glad he was too far to see his own reflection in Ivan's eyes.

He opened his mouth. But no words came out. His lips parted in midway and there they remained frozen. Their eyes were locked in deep fixation. Everything stopped. It was as if a time traveler had decided to discontinue the flow of the universe, and they were accidentally caught in the middle of the phenomenon.

All of a sudden aware of their feral position, Yao felt exposed and vulnerable. For the first time since they had met, Yao realized how naked he was. Glancing down at his own arousal and where they were connected, he was embarrassed by his behavior. Ivan's gaze at him penetrated through his soul. Even though he knew Ivan had dark blue eyes, in that split second he thought he saw precious amethyst radiating within his orbs.

Almost like an epiphany, but nothing that admirable, he knew that he had failed.

He couldn't ask that question.

The unspoken words crumbled away. Dissolving into ashes until even the memory of them was forgotten. His mouth curved into that familiar smile that Ivan both hated and loved, and he extended his arms out in a way that seemed to say 'come'.

The time traveler returned from his grand adventure and broke through his own spell. The magic was lost.

They collided in an earth-shattering embrace, and the world resumed its mundane course. With his arms wrapped tightly around Ivan's toned back and the racer's scent seeping through every inch of his skin, Yao closed his eyes. He wouldn't mind if he never woke up.

Lights were turned off in the room and the only source of illumination came from the candlelight by the nightstand. The flame flickered fretfully as their voices increased in volume and intensity. With a final gesture of infatuation, the voices stopped. Although the air was impregnated by the fragrance of human essence and was dampened by moisture, the flame became steady in its quivers.

Ivan's head rested on his chest, flaxen locks tickled his neck, and their heat beats pulsed as one single melody. Yao could sense the hot and steady breathing that was absorbed by his pores; they were connected in every physical way, if only their words could reach each other too.

"Yao?" Ivan nuzzled against the warm skin.

"Hmm?"

"What were you going to say?" he asked. "You looked like you wanted to say something right before… well, right before I came." His voice turned into a whisper as he outlined every patches of muscle on Yao's midriff with his finger.

"Oh," Yao answered calmly. "It was nothing."

He could not see the expression on his face, yet he knew exactly how Yao must have looked when he replied. He could imagine that meaningless smile just from his tone. Ivan frowned faintly. He propped himself up with his two hands, and looked down at the Chinese man beneath him.

"You were out of it today," he said. "It wasn't nothing. You wanted to say something… what was it?" he asked again.

Yao tilted his head and smiled enigmatically at him. "Do you really want to know?" he purred.

"Tell me."

Instead of his lips moving first, Yao's hand moved against the force of gravity until it stopped by Ivan's face. Fingers softly caressing the side of his cheek like gentle waves rolling on sand, he spoke.

"Smile at me."

Ivan's brows narrowed in confusion. He scrutinized his unreadable face trying to find the missing clues. Yet he could see nothing.

"Come on Ivan smile at me," he restated his words more pleadingly this time. "I just want to see your smile. How come you never… you never looked happy when you're with me." Both of his palms held his face in silent adoration. Ivan wanted to melt in his touch, yet his mouth remained in a rigid straight line.

They were the complete opposite. The racer always had a frozen smile on his face in front of the public, whether he was facing fans or his strict manager, he seemed to smile indifferently. But that smile soon disappeared whenever he was with Yao. It didn't matter if they were on bed or the racetracks, his eyes beamed with intense concentration never leaving its target. On the other hand, Yao's grin was consistent when they were together. He smiled even during the most unnatural times; it was as if it became his shield. But times when Yao didn't know Ivan was looking, when he was staring off into the distance or on a phone call with people Ivan didn't know, Ivan saw his stoic features, his unsympathetic eyes and emotionless gaze. Despite everything, they were strangers to each other.

"Please smile at me," Yao murmured with a hint of desperation in his tone. "Come on racer boy."

The muscles around his mouth tightened and he attempted to lift the corners of his mouth. But staring at Yao's face, his heart bled knowing he couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled before plunging his head down to bring their lips together once more. Despite of Yao's already swollen lips, he gnawed and sucked on it helplessly. In their oral entanglement, his longing betrayed his emotions. After feeling the numbness around Yao's lips, he began planting kisses on his neck and shoulders.

His dulled senses tinkled at the burning vapor on his neck, then the tender brush of lips. A hand pulled strands of his hair as the kisses became harder, more urgent. Another hand slid around his waist to pull their bodies even closer together. His kisses now landing on his shoulders and hair, Yao chuckled sharply to no one in particular.

Both wondered just how long they could keep this up. How long they could keep this charade before one of them gets bored. Loses the game. Or perhaps maybe… just maybe… this game didn't have to end.

Outside the window, crystals of ice fell in swirling motion covering the city in nothing but snow.

 _TBC._

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading this far :) I really appreciate it!

I'm seriously overwriting this, but I guess at least one of you is happy about it (I'm looking at you BerylCoronet).

Review?


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Another chapter! We're almost there!

In response to Magentacrazedgirl8's question 'Why won't Ivan smile?': Thanks for the review! And that's a very good question lol. The reason why Ivan couldn't smile wasn't because he didn't want to. It was because even if he did smile, his true feelings wouldn't get across to Yao. Now in front of the public (his fans, his team, his competitor, basically the whole world), he always wore a smile. This was not a genuine smile. But in front of Yao, his smile disappeared because that was his true self. He didn't know why this Chinese man seemed so intriguing to him; he was confused and looked for answers. Back there, he couldn't smile because Yao meant more to him than his usual forced smile. But if he didn't smile then Yao would think he meant even less to him than strangers. So he kissed Yao instead. Yao probably misunderstood it. Lol, also it's kinda awkward to smile when someone is telling you to do that isn't it? That was only the beginning of their relationship, so they had a lot of miscommunication and missed opportunities. I hope that answered your question :D

This story is composed of a lot of metaphors and implicit ideas that are not explained straightforwardly. So if you are in any way confused about something or is looking for clarification, feel free to ask!

* * *

 _We drove fast and died young._

 _Crashing into the gray smoke, I rode into the eternal sunset._

 _All alone in this ride, my only wish was for my man to be by my side._

What is love but insignificant moments that bind two people together? What is love but the familiarization of each other through the passage of time? Although there lives within the very flame of love a kind of wick or snuff that will abate it*, maybe companionship is all there really is to this long and windy road called life.

Shoes littered the front entrance creating their own bed of dusty mud. They lay not in pairs but often far apart, kicked off in random directions the second they were no longer required. Boots, sneakers, oxfords, and other kind of shoes in two distinct sizes were spread out on the white marble floor in a disorganized manner. This scene was only occasionally cleaned up when guests, namely his manager or the housekeeper, came for visits. Unwashed dishes were stacked high in the kitchen sink, waiting for the time of the day when they would be utilized again. However there was always the option of ordering Chinese food. On the white leather couch, a thick winter jacket was tossed impetuously onto the costly material giving the once pristine furniture a homely look. A pot of sunflower stood stiffly in the corner of the living room, but despite of its awkwardness, it was obvious that it was well beloved. If it wasn't, it would have wilted long ago. The bathroom was situated on the right side of the living room. Gleaming granite counter tops glistened beneath walnut framed mirrors, yet long black hairs could be seen dispersed around the counter. A Jacuzzi tub by the side of the wall appeared spotless at first glance, however upon closer inspection suspicious stains could be seen that suggested wild nights and crazy schemes. Water dripped from the over-sized shower head in the walk-in shower room. _Drip. Drip. Drip_. With each fall of a single sphere of water it seemed to get louder. Each time it hit the ground the sound would linger, almost as if it was frozen in the air for a split second.

Across from the bathroom, one could enter directly into the bedroom, and there two men could be spotted on the bed.

Ivan sat on the furthest end of the bed with both hands in his lap. He was already dressed for the day, yet he was reluctant to leave the comfort of his soft mattress.

"What are you doing Yao?" he asked. His eyes glancing at the man leaning against both of their pillows with his legs crossed, toes curling in silk sheets. He was wearing a white collar shirt, which Ivan was positive was his, that hugged his body like an oversized blanket. With the first three slots unbuttoned, the shirt revealed his razor-sharp collarbones and half of his shoulders. He was undoubtedly petite compared to Ivan, yet the racer knew he was not in any way fragile or weaker than him. This was proved on many nights where they decided to try something different. The Chinese man was deeply engrossed in the magazine in his hands, eyes never straying from the page, fingers playing with the edge of the paper. Oh yes, one more thing. He wasn't wearing pants.

"I'm looking at you," Yao said sincerely. He never raised his eyes up.

"No you're not," Ivan said. "You're too busy looking at whatever, or whoever that is on that stupid magazine."

"Someone's jealous." Not at all affected by Ivan's words, Yao continued to skim through the lines. "But Vanya…" Ivan tensed up at his pet name. "I really wasn't joking when I said I was looking at you."

He suppressed a chuckle and threw that magazine at the person on the other side of the bed. Ivan caught it effortlessly and as he glanced at what had captured Yao's attention his face flamed up. He avoided eye contact with Yao because the loud laughter was enough for his humiliation. On the glossy page of the magazine titled **12 questions with NASCAR superstar Ivan Braginsky** , his own face stared right back at him.

Yao savored in his blushing face and continued to laugh. "You're hilarious you know that? What is an errand or chore that you do in your daily life? _Oh I do my own laundry._ " He mimicked mockingly. "Ha! Such a natural liar, I can't believe you said it with a straight face!" Uncrossing his legs and swaying them casually, he rolled his head back in laughter.

"Yao-" Ivan bit on his fingernail as the taint in his cheeks refused to diminish.

"Oh wait! Here's another good one!" Yao snickered gleefully. "What is the most important quality you look for in future partners? _Well I love women who are kindhearted and family-orient_ \- Aghh Ivan!"

Ivan didn't wait for him to finish his impersonation as he grabbed both of Yao's ankles and pulled him fiercely down on the bed, wrinkling the bed sheets in the process. Yao hastily tugged on the bottom of the shirt to cover up his manhood as he was suddenly being hauled like a sack of potatoes.

"Aiyah Ivan stop being so childish," he complained, however his laughter didn't stop. "Let go of my legs." Both of his legs straight up in the air with a pair of unyielding hands holding them by the ankles, Yao eyed him amusingly. Then it was as if he thought of some wicked plan, he yanked his foot off from Ivan's clasp and lightly kicked him in the face. The palm of his foot rubbed Ivan's cheek teasingly, his toes grazing his nose, nudging his smooth complexion. Yet to Yao's utter surprise, Ivan retrieved his hold on his ankle and pressed his lips down on that mischievous foot. Like a dew freckled petal caught in a breeze, so soft with the smallest hint of coolness, his lips moved from his big toe to the heel of his foot.

"Yao…" he cooed between the raindrop-like kisses.

Still pulling on the bottom of his shirt, Yao stiffened a giggle at his affectionate display. "I didn't know you had a foot fetish," he taunted him good-humoredly.

"I'll mention that next time during my interview," said Ivan, his eyes shimmering in a rich hue. He stuck out the tip of his tongue and let it tickle his sensitive flesh, evoking a high-pitched whine from the man lounging on the bed.

"Okay okay okay!" Yao admitted defeat as his words tumbled out speedily. "You win alright? There, now let go of me." His legs pretended to struggle from Ivan's stubborn grip. Then, almost intentionally Ivan let go of his hold on Yao's legs and two long limbs fell down on his sides.

Now in a position where his legs were spread apart with Ivan in the center, Yao glared at him warningly. "Ivan..." he began ominously. "I'm going to be late for work if you intend on keeping me up past nine."

"Yao," he said in equal dreadfulness. "If you were serious about going to work today you would already be out half an hour ago. Not to mention about your… choice of attire. You _know_ how much I like seeing you in my clothes." He wiggled his hips slightly so that his loin faced directly against Yao's entrance.

"Don't flatter yourself," he smiled coolly. "Do you even know how many good shirts of mine you destroyed in the past months? I'm not taking that chance again."

He wasn't lying exactly. But there was also truth in what Ivan said about his enthusiasm for work. He could afford to be a little late today since his project was finished early. Staying in bed with the Russian seemed to be a much better option compared to sitting in front of his computer staring at numbers and symbols. Despite of studying and working with these manmade figures all his life, he never understood them. While some saw indications of truth and the universe in them, to Yao they were always ink blots on textbooks. He read them, memorized them, and understood them enough for his exams and job, but he never truly saw them. His smile subsided as he reflected on the wasted years for a wasted life. He wrapped his legs around Ivan, and directed his attention on the ceiling above.

Massaging Yao's thighs with his calloused fingers calmingly, Ivan observed him in silence.

The wind blowing past their window had lost it bite. It had become ambient, congenial, blowing branches and tousling the hair of pedestrians - but no longer stealing their warmth. Spring had quietly arrived with tight green buds and puddles of rain.

"Can I ask you something?"

There were still sprinkles of casualness in his tone, smears of nonchalance that served to hide its importance. Yao kept his eyes focused on the grey ceiling devoid of any imperfections. His lips parted and closed. Then they opened once more.

"Do you…" he stopped as if he saw a phantom within those walls. If he did, then it must have whispered secrets to him because his mouth stretched into a faint smile. "Let's go out Ivan Braginsky."

Chuckling slightly now that the weight had been lifted off him, he stopped his amour with the ceiling and lowered his fixation on Ivan. He continued, "Go out with me…please. Be my boyfriend."

It was a question long overdue. It wasn't asked as a grand proposal with roses and an elaborate arrangement. It wasn't asked before they jumped into bed and exchanged bodily fluids. It wasn't like the movies with fireworks in the background, and they were no Romeo and Juliet.

They were simply two men who had gotten used to each other. Be it flesh or presence, time had trickled by with a single drop followed by another, until it had accumulated to an ocean of desire.

"Please…" Yao mumbled softly. His smile remained his shield.

Ivan's hands stopped in its circular motion above his thighs. Yao chewed on his lips as the fingernails dug harshly into his thin layer of skin covering blood and bones. The Slavic man didn't speak for a long time, before something truly miraculous happened. He laughed.

Now it wasn't as if Yao had never seen him laugh before, but it was rare. The racer's range of emotions in the bedroom was limited and constrained. Although they couldn't be more familiar with each other's bodies, their facial expressions usually resided on two ends of a scale, full-blown euphoria, and hushed appreciation.

"What's so funny," Yao inquired whiningly. Unbeknownst to him, he had started laughing too. There was something comical about their situation. With only a white shirt on his body, his legs snaked around a fully-dressed man's waist, and a question that sounded like it came straight from a high school drama, the only response was to burst into laughter.

"Oh Yao-Yao," Ivan attempted to catch his breath which amounted to little success. From deep inside his chest came a great shaking motion and his face muscles grew tight. Wiping the corner of his eye, he said, "What did you think we were doing before? Huh? We live together!"

"But you never made it clear-"

"Yao," he interrupted, his tone became more serious. "I thought I was your boyfriend before you even asked that question."

He recognized a trace of uncertainty when he uttered the word 'boyfriend' and he knew it was the first time either one of them had confirmed their relations to one another. Despite of Ivan's words, Yao noticed the change in his eyes and the growing heat on his cheeks.

"Really," Yao smiled innocently; his knee cap started grinding into Ivan's side. He slowly pushed himself even further down on the bed, onto Ivan, and clasped his legs shut with Ivan in the middle. "Really?" he repeated.

"Have I ever lied to you?" Ivan tried to ignore his provocations, yet the extending pressure exerted on Yao caused the Chinese man to smile even wider, his legs tighter.

"Only on our first night when you said you weren't interested in me," he reminisced fondly.

"But I wasn't interested." As more blood rushed to his lower region, the urge to take him down right there and then became stronger.

"Aw," Yao put on a pained face. "What caused the change of heart then?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice.

Ivan didn't reply. Instead he loosened his tie and took off his constricting suit.

This had become more than just a one-night stand. Perhaps they were still clueless about what exactly their relationship entailed. Maybe the bleakness of their future didn't change from a single question, yet for better or worse, they were willing to make room in their hearts.

"I don't know," he lied. "But I think we could be doing something more productive than talking this morning."

"Aren't you tired from yesterday night?"

"Nyet," he had slipped into his mother tongue, but they had been together long enough for Yao to know what it meant.

"What if one day you get bored of me?" Yao resumed in his assault of questions.

"I won't."

His mouth answered before his brain had time to process his own response. Back then, he didn't know if he meant it or not. But the glow in Yao's eyes upon hearing these words made him glad it wasn't another unspoken moment between them where they had to decipher each other's silence. Who knows if his answer came from the heart or random impulsion; who could confirm that his promise would withstand the testimony of time. But for now, it was enough for the two of them.

Yao was never good at discerning between lies and truth. He knew that better than anyone. Yet he chose to let himself believe…One more time.

"You don't think they would mind if I call in sick later do you?" Yao grinned at him wickedly.

"No your absence would only affect me."

"Your answers are getting better," Yao hummed with a sedative quality in his remark. Grabbing Ivan by his collar, he pulled him down on the bed.

Something never changed.

The sound of their lovemaking concealed the pitter-patter of rainfall. It knocked on their window, but no one replied.

* * *

Ivan Braginsky never had a boyfriend. Well he never had a lover period. Ever since he could remember, his entire life's milestones were categorized into successes and failures. Needless to say failure was met with punishments. Physical when he was younger, but it had transformed into the bitter taste of disgrace once he became taller than his father. He hated losing more than anything, despised the fact that people could be better than him when he knew that he worked twice as much as them. On his ninth birthday, his father brought him to an amusement park where he rode in one of those bumper cars. In his memory, he could only recall his father ever smiling at him on that day. Cars became his passion. His motivation. His fire. His reason to live. It was only when he was sitting in the driver's seat with his hands on the wheels that he felt free. But despite of his best efforts, he was never able to soar beyond the finish line. There were always places for improvements, or in another words, places of mistakes and errors. You see, his passion did not allow him for anything, or anyone, to enter his heart. The people that climbed on the same bed as him simply functioned as release for sexual frustration. His third hand.

He didn't care to remember their faces. He never asked for their names.

Well that was until his one night stand with a stranger, who was now his current boyfriend.

Boyfriend… that still sounded funny to him. Like a misplaced puzzle shoved clumsily to fit the unmatched space, this simile could describe more than one aspect of their relationship. The more time he spent with this strange man, the more he wondered about himself.

Sure he liked women; there was always something to grab onto. And yes, he occasionally went for men who were willing to raise their arse at him. Heck he had been with men who were a lot more stereotypically attractive than his current boyfriend, but it was Yao Wang who captured his heart. Okay, that sounded incredibly cheesy for his masculine pride. How about…it was Yao Wang who made him stay for one more night. Ah much better.

At first the Chinese man wasn't much a looker. He was great at sex, knew all the tricks in the book, all the right places to touch, and a vast collection of moans to get him aroused. But he definitely wasn't a beauty. Too thin to be manly and not feminine enough to be perceived as a girly man; he simply looked out of place. According to his manager Natalya, he couldn't have picked a more average-looking man as his boyfriend. But perhaps of time, or his declining eye-sight, Yao appeared more and more appealing every day. From the second he woke up to the moment he fell asleep, his face was the first thing he saw. He didn't remember when he started to make a habit of observing him quietly, and he certainly didn't know why he received joy in memorizing the details that make up his facial structure. However the longer they spent with each other, the more he realized it was fruitless to deny his fascination.

Every little action was caught by his eyes. He tapped his fingers in intervals of three when he was anxious, in intervals of two when he was bored; he often brought his thumb to his lips when he wanted to say something but stayed silent; he cooked with his left hand, yet wrote with his right hand; he sucked in his stomach whenever he was nervous; and the list went on. Ivan was convinced he knew about Yao more than Yao knew about himself. But his smile still remained a mystery.

It meant everything and nothing at all.

Although Yao never liked talking about himself, with time Ivan eventually found out a little about the man whom he had lived with for almost three years now. Yao was the oldest of his family yet he never mentioned his siblings on his own and never visited his family even during New Year celebrations. When Ivan inquired, Yao simply smiled and said it was rude to go without an invitation. So he asked him to teach him how to make dumplings; however as fate would have it, Yao knew just as much about making dumplings as Ivan, and by the end of the night they had plates of what resembled third graders' art projects. At least they had a good laugh out of it.

Ivan also learned about what exactly Yao did during the time when they were not tossing and turning around in bed. He asked him about his job and Yao told him to guess. He replied 'pornstar' and the next thing he remembered was a pillow smacking his face. It turned out that Yao was a computer engineer at a software company. At times when Yao had to stay up for a whole night to finish his work, Ivan felt his heart wringed staring at the lone back of the man typing away at his computer. He tried to stay awake to accompany him yet he always drifted off to sleep… in the morning he woke up tucked inside his bed and the Chinese man was nowhere to be seen.

Yao Wang.

His name rolled off his tongue like a marble rolling around the floor. It tasted like sweet lemonade on a hot, sunny day. Ivan had fallen for him. It was a slow and steady fall down the rabbit hole and eventually he reached the bottom.

He loved him.

Even for a person who never experienced love before, he knew he loved him.

But he feared that he loved him more than Yao loved him back. In fact he didn't know if Yao loved him at all.

After all he only said those three little words like they meant nothing to him.

 _Panting harshly with sweat dripping down his body, Ivan stopped Yao's long awaited release with his thumb. "Say you love me," he said in a husky voice._

" _ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! ARGHHH~ IVAN LET GO!"_

" _Say you love me," he persisted tenaciously, reaching his own limit too._

" _OH MY FUC- YES IVAN I LOVE YOU! OKAY I LOVE YOU!"_

 _Then he removed his thumb and let Yao's seeds rain down upon his torso._

Now you see Ivan's predicament?

Even when it was not forced out of Yao, the times he muttered those words were with so little passion that it sounded like he was talking about the weather. No matter how many times Ivan tried to make Yao voice what he so desperately wanted to hear, every single time it sounded like a joke. Or a lie.

Despite of his smiles, Ivan thought Yao was a cold man. He could be charming, seductive, and playful, but outside the bedroom Ivan saw a dispassionate man.

Eleven o'clock morphed into twelve and then one. The time trickled by, marked only by those changing, growing numerals. Ivan yawned wearily as his mind pondered on all those years that went by; where there should be dreams was a heavy reflection. Tilting his head to look at the man sleeping next to him, he softly placed his hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Yao," he whispered cautiously. Wanting to wake him, but reluctant to interrupt his slumber at the same time.

"What…" Yao begrudgingly grumbled.

"Are you asleep?"

"Not anymore…"

Ivan chuckled as he imagined the scowl on Yao's face. He said, "I love you Yao."

"Hmm…"

"I really do," he pressed. "I really love you."

"Go to sleep," Yao groaned and turned his body away from Ivan, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder.

Ivan looked at him wordlessly. In his quiet solitude, he seemed to accept Yao's lack of reciprocation. Shifting closer to him, he rested his chin on his shoulder and slung his arm over Yao. To his surprise, Yao grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together.

That night Ivan dreamt of fast cars and an interrupted dazzling scarlet that stretched seamlessly across the open road.

* * *

Up the avenue, at Ninety-First Street, there stood a small café that welcomed New Yorkers from their busy lives into a moment of tranquility. Well it was more of an English tea shop really. They served tea in real white china pots at round tables that mostly just seated two people. At the glass-fronted counter was an array of cream cakes and pastries, all with English sounding names, and of course there were the obligatory scones. Arthur Kirkland was fond of the little place that reminded him of his grandmother's house; even though he was born and raised in New York, he felt he was a gentleman at heart. He had ordered cream tea with Earl Grey and sat there waited for an old friend to arrive. The bells rang as another customer entered. Arthur raised his thick knitted brows and smiled at the newcomer.

"Over here," he called out, waving the man over.

The man excused himself as he squeezed through old women and the long lineup at the counter before making his way to the table at the furthest corner of the shop.

"Why do you always like sitting at the corner Arthur? Even in high school you would choose the most isolated area," the man said as he proceeded to take his seat.

Blowing air over his warm tea, Arthur smiled. "Well it's nice and quiet here isn't it? Besides you were the one who couldn't stand most of our classmates back in school."

"Ah the memory of youth," Yao exclaimed with a mocking tenderness. "It seems just like yesterday when we were studying for exams and… planning our future."

"We're living our future right now."

"Exactly." Yao shook his cup slightly, twirling the dark liquid which emitted a strong aroma.

Arthur glanced through the menu even though he already knew it by heart. "How are you these days?" he asked. "I haven't seen you in a long time." Almost three years.

"I'm good," Yao said, sipping his tea. "What about you? Oh and give my best regards to Franny. I hope you guys are doing well."

"Actually we're expecting a baby." Even though he tried to contain his excitement, Yao could see genuine joy brimming through his eyes.

"Wow-this is great!" Yao congratulated him. "Look at you, little Artie is going to be a father."

"Oh stop it Yao, you and Al are the only ones who still call me that," Arthur fussed good-naturedly. Still trying to maintain the dignity of a soon-to-be father, he said, "Franny really misses you, actually everyone does…Do-do you even contact our old friends?"

"You know I don't," Yao said calmly, not a hint of remorse was in his voice.

"Kiku worries about you," he said. "When was the last time you even talked to him?"

"When he told my parents about me and _him,_ " Yao smiled through clenched teeth. "He's a doctor now isn't it? Well good for him. Everything always goes well for him."

"Yao," Arthur lowered his voice. "It wasn't his fault; they were bound to find out about you guys."

"He promised not to tell. I trusted him," he said coolly.

"Okay Yao, fine let's say he betrayed you. That doesn't change the fact that he tried to get you out of that _relationship_."

"Arthur…" Yao warned.

"That guy ruined you!" Several heads turned in their direction as the conversation became more heated.

"Don't assume things you don't know," Yao spit each word out with venom.

"Why are you still defending _him_ after what _he_ had done to you?!"

"Stop it."

"You were a mess when _he_ left yo-"

"ARTHUR."

"Oh I'm so…" Arthur saw his clenched fists and glaring eyes. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine." He crossed his arms. "I just don't want to talk about _him_."

"So _he_ never contacted yo-"

Yao laughed. "Did you hear what I just said?" Perhaps his tone was a bit too harsh, so he offered a forced smile and sighed. "Let's talk about something else. I don't want to waste this lovely afternoon digging up the past."

"So…" He emptied his cup with a final sip. "I heard you moved in with a guy…"

"Yeah," Yao said. Fingers tapping in intervals of three, he waited for Arthur's next question.

"A racer no less?" he chuckled. "And together for how long? Three years?"

"Yeah."

"You know I heard stuff about him from Al, they said he,"

"Do you really trust everything your step brother tells you?" Yao interrupted politely.

"Come on, no need to get all defensive. I just want to look out for you."

Yao didn't say anything. Placing his thumb over his mouth, his silence didn't discourage Arthur's interrogation one bit.

"Should you really be doing this? Getting into another relationship with a guy?" He placed relative emphasize on the word 'guy'. "You were so happy with Anya! I thought you guys were going to get married!"

"She had to follow her dream."

"Because you broke up with her," he corrected him.

"I can't ask her to choose between me and her career," Yao argued back.

"Still you could've had a normal life…"

"What are you saying?" Although he tried to maintain his composure, he was quickly getting irritated by his old friend's attitude. "Anyways it's too late now. She moved on and I clearly did too."

"With Ivan Braginsky…" He pronounced his Russian name strangely with a touch of uncertainty. "How did you guys even meet?"

"Do you remember during Alfred's fifth win, you couldn't come so you gave me the ticket?"

"Is that how you guys…"

"Yeah, we talked at the after party…" Yao averted his eyes from Arthur. Well they talked for less than five minutes. "…And we got to know each other." They only got to know each other after countless nights in bed together. "…And we clicked." Physically.

"So it was a one night stand?" Arthur was smarter than most people gave him credits for.

"Not really…" Yao denied.

"Look Yao, you may think I'm being nosy or judgmental or whatever, but I'm worried about you," Arthur said concernedly. "Do you really think you guys can have a future together?"

"How nice of you to care," Yao blurted out gratefully. "When I was at my lowest puking my guts out, being fucked by strangers, none of you answered your calls. And now to think you have the nerve to criticize me about my decisions!"

"How much do you even know about this racer guy?" Arthur ignored his comment. "You think I don't know what you're like? Tell me the truth, are you guys just friends with benefits?"

Yao resisted the urge to get up from his chair and punch him in front of everyone. People were already staring, it wouldn't make a difference if a fight broke out. But instead he pointed his finger at Arthur and dropped his voice down to a hushed whisper. "No. Don't you dare say that."

"Fine, what do you guys do besides fucking each other then?"

"Why should I tell you?" Yao decided he had enough of this and planned to leave in the next minute. There was no point finishing his tea for it had gone cold. However Arthur's next question stopped him in his tracks.

"Do you love him?"

 _TBC._

* * *

AN: *"there lives within the very flame of love a kind of wick or snuff that will abate it"- Claudius (Hamlet, Act IV, scene 7)

I hope this chapter showed their relationship progress! If not, then... haha I have failed.

In Arthur and Yao's conversation, this _"him",_ presumably Yao's first love, will be explained in the next chapter...If people want to know lol.

Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hope you will like this chapter~

* * *

"Do you love him?"

He blinked slowly. Silence crept through the open window like the autumnal air. "Love…" he uttered wistfully, his mouth tugged upwards to form the skeleton of a smile. "What a funny word…love that is. I once thought I knew what that strange word meant, but I was too young, a fool. Now I don't know what it means. I don't know if it even truly exists. Tell me Arthur, what do _you_ think love is?"

As Yao directed the question back to him, Arthur opened and closed his mouth. Then he let out a frustrated sigh. "Love is when you decide you want to spend the rest of your life with someone. We're not children anymore, we don't have that freedom to act without thinking about our consequences," he said, the smallest hint of premature wrinkles appearing on his forehead.

"So someone you decide to spend the rest of your life with then?" Yao echoed his words.

"Yes…"

"What if I say I want to spend the rest of my life with this racer? Would you say I'm crazy?" he laughed like he was making a joke. Although his words were true, they invoked a sense of childish humor. "Ah yes, I must be crazy. Do I love him you asked? Well, I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe I just got used to him, maybe I'm too lazy to find someone else. The trust is, I don't know."

"You used to brag about knowing everything…" Arthur softly murmured to himself.

He remembered what he used to say. "I knew nothing… and I still don't know anything. Sometimes I like to fool myself into thinking I see through things no one else can, but at the end of the day I'm just as blind as everyone else, if not more stupid. But despite all of this…"

"What?"

Gazing at his blurry reflection in the porcelain cup, Yao seemed momentarily lost in his own thoughts. "I think I do."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He could guess what Yao was referring to, but he always preferred a straightforward answer. Vagueness meant uncertainty, it invited denial. "You think what?" he asked.

"I think I love him." Yao looked up at Arthur. His voice was calm and expressionless. His words could be replaced with casual formalities about the weather and it still wouldn't have made a difference. "It's true, I don't know what love is. But if love is just a word, then who's to say I don't love him? We've been together for almost three years now. I'd be more surprised if I don't have feelings for him… even a dog would have grown attached to its owner."

"Who's the dog? You, or him?"

Yao chuckled. "Who knows."

They sipped their tea as silence, their old friend, sat quietly in the empty chair. Yao swallowed down the bitter taste, although he didn't have a sweet tooth, the harsh aftertaste lingered in his mouth. Yet there was something smoothing to the way it numbed his tongue and throat.

"Like, love, lust, what's the difference? They all began with 'L'," he said suddenly. "I know what you are thinking. And I know how I must look to you. Unmarried with a man. I know, I know… I heard it all from my parents, you don't have to repeat their words. To be honest, I gave up on relationships a long time ago. I didn't want commitment and I didn't want to get attached. I was fine with living by myself. Never happy, but content nevertheless."

"And then he came into your life?" Arthur guessed the obvious.

"And then I was happy." Yao smiled slightly. "He made me happy. The times we spent together, I was happy. It's that simple Arthur."

He nodded his head as if he understood.

"We didn't do much. We moved in together after only knowing each others' names. Granted I already knew things about him from Alfred, but we were essentially strangers to each other. I never learn from my mistakes, but perhaps meeting him again and again was my best mistake. We weren't even sure what our relationship was for more than a year, and we certainly never went on dates or anything like that. But somewhere along the way, we got used to falling asleep and waking up besides each other…Oh I'm sorry, you never asked for the… _details_."

"No it's fine," Arthur said. "He um… he seems like a pleasant person."

Yao laughed. "He's a big kid. You should have seen him with his puppy dog eyes whenever I tell him I'm not coming home due to work. My god, he looks like a giant teddy bear."

Looking amusingly at Yao, Arthur said, "You really love him don't you?"

He glanced away. Few strands of his loose hair fluttered naturally, carried by the soft breeze. "I want to be with him. Till his last day, I want to be with him."

Then as Yao turned his head and the old friends locked eyes, Arthur knew there was nothing more he needed to ask. The truth was apparent on his face. Words might be lies, but a person's eyes spoke multitude of what rested in his heart.

"Maybe one day, if I'm lucky, I'll get to meet this guy."

It was a small step, but Yao's fingers flinched at the unexpected acceptance. He had no friends left, and he didn't need accompaniment to fulfill a false sense of security. But it had been too long since he saw people from his past. He used to be his friend. Maybe one day, he could truly call him that again.

"One day…" Yao said, quiet yet clear, questioning yet unwavering.

Yao didn't know if everything could go back to the way it was, and he didn't know if he wanted to go back. The ink of the past remained dried, and his future peered blankly at him. But at least he was able to come to terms with some of his feelings. Ivan Braginsky…he was the racer who drove fast, the thief who stole his comfort in being alone. Yao was afraid to call him his boyfriend. Because boyfriend meant two things: marriage or breakup. They were never going to get married in a church, and the idea of never seeing Ivan again… Eventually that day would come where they would part ways, and become strangers once again. The inevitable conclusion to their story. They weren't fictional characters in a movie where the end was defined by a tragic parting or eternal promise. They would disappear from each others' lives quite silently, maybe they would glance back as they walked further down separate roads, but he doubted they would return back to one another. Despite of seeing the future, Yao contemplated the whisper of a possibility that they could stay…together… _forever_. It seemed silly, but he was willing to be with Ivan as long as Ivan felt the same. No…even when they stopped being in 'love', he wanted to stay beside him.

"Listen, Yao," Arthur said, his tone serious with the smudge of regret. "I'm sorry I brought up some…unpleasant things from the past. I'm truly _sorry._ "

Yao stopped him. "Don't worry about it…It was my fault too for getting so agitated. I thought I didn't care anymore, but I guess some scars never heal."

"I'm sorry."

He was not the one who wielded the blade, and his apology wouldn't make the scar disappear. He couldn't blame anyone but himself, Yao knew that very well. "Best blessings to you and Franny. I'm sure you'll make a great father."

"Yao…"

"Yes?" He said as he stood up from his chair.

"You would have been a good father too."

His lips shaped into a tight smile. "Well that simply isn't possible anymore, is it?"

The bells rang as he left the café. Checking his watch, he knew he was going to be late to Ivan's test run. When did this man become his everything? He did not know. There were so many unanswered questions, some would be revealed in due time, some were best left in the dark, while other answers simply didn't exist. So Yao walked forward without looking back. He seemed to know where he was going.

* * *

When did love go sour? When did that fire of passion dwindle into a faint spark and die?

Yao scanned through his sister's questions, unsure of how to respond. It had been many years since his sister last contacted him, not to mention asked him for advice. Well it was understandable since she was going through some troubles with her husband. He could recall how in love with him she seemed when she was just in university, how fast time had passed.

His fingers hovered above the keyboard of his phone, yet no words of comfort seemed appropriate for her dilemma. Hardly the expert on love, Yao turned off his phone and sighed.

Glancing at the man beside him on the bed, Yao looked at him wordlessly while Ivan's eyes were glued on his laptop.

When did love go sour?

Her words echoed in his ears.

"Ivan," Yao called out to him. As if he didn't hear him, Ivan made no signs of any acknowledgement. "What are you doing Ivan?" he tried again.

Ivan mumbled something inaudible.

When did that fire of passion dwindle into a faint spark and die?

Even though they still slept in the same bed, gone were the days when the bed sheets needed to be washed and changed daily. Their touches and kisses became rare, and on the days they did have sex, it was finished quickly like they were completing a task. Few words were spoken before Yao left for work and fewer words during the night when he came back. Less like lovers and more like roommates.

Yao reflected on the choice of going to sleep in this bed or grabbing a blanket and migrating to the couch in the living room. In the end, he chose neither.

Leaning over Ivan's shoulder, Yao uttered the words on the screen, " _We drove fast and died young. Crashing into the gray smoke, I rode into the eternal sunset_ … What is this Ivan?"

Ivan finally looked at Yao. "It's nothing, just the lyrics to a song." He closed down the tab and moved the laptop to the nightstand. Yao narrowed his eyes at his action.

"I didn't know you had the musical taste of a high school boy."

Not offended at all by his words, Ivan chuckled. "Not everyone listens to Beethoven or Chopin like you."

He shrugged. "Classics are classics."

Just when Yao was about to turn away from Ivan and sleep, he felt him pulling him close to his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around him, and his head nuzzling his back, Ivan said, "That song meant a lot to me…it still means a lot even now."

"Why?"

"That is my life," Ivan said, his lips pressing to his skin, and his warm breath landing on the barren land like the gust of spring. "I lived my whole life like the lyrics of that song. I believed in them; they were my mantra… I heard the song when I was a kid, probably nine or ten, and from there I thought I heard the truth: it was better to follow your dream and yield to self-destruction than to live a disappointing life."

It had been a long time since he kissed him like that, Yao thought while Ivan placed speckles of kisses over the back of his shoulders. "No dreams are worth handing your life over," Yao said.

"But there's no point in living if you are not striving towards something."

"Is that how you feel?" Yao said, turning his head to look at Ivan. The Russian man caught his lips with his mouth and prodded entrance. The kiss lasted less than five seconds.

"Yes," he answered him.

"And this dream of yours? What is this dream that is worth more than your life?" Yao didn't bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

"You know what it is."

"No tell me. I want to hear you say it." Yao observed his roommate of four years, waiting for the dreaded reply.

"Racing," Ivan said it plainly. "The race track is my life, Yao. We have gone over this before."

Yao rolled his eyes and faced away from Ivan. "You're obsessed."

"Racing is all I've known. That is all I have." His arms clutched Yao tighter, but nevertheless the distance between them grew.

"Winning is not everything."

"It is to me." Ivan knew he was gripping him with an intense force, but Yao made no sound. "I have to, I have to, I have to get first place."

Yao faced away from him because he didn't want him to see the pained expression on his face. But more importantly, he didn't want to see the look in Ivan's eyes. "But you are already so accomplished! You already have so much! Why do you-"

"I don't have anything." Ivan cut him off. It was only after his words were released that he realized his harsh tone. Ivan wanted to take back what he said, but he wondered if Yao truly understood him. Why couldn't he see how important racing was to him? Why couldn't he understand that he couldn't just give up the one thing his entire life was built on?

"You have me…" Yao whispered. "Or does that mean nothing to you?"

Silence. It was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong.

"I guess I got my answer…" Yao softly mused. He didn't pull away from Ivan's unyielding arms, but that was because he had grown tired.

"That's not what I mean. Stop it Yao," Ivan said impatiently. He was tired too.

"Then what did you mean?!" Yao could not stop his voice from rising.

"I love you." Yet he said it with exasperation and annoyance. How many times did he have to repeat these words to Yao just for him to completely ignore his sentiments?

"But you obviously love racing more," Yao said, his voice sounded more bitter than he expected.

"Oh my god, you can't be serious."

"Well then tell me which one do you love more?" He hated himself for asking. Despised the childish irrationality in his words.

"You can't tell me to choose between you or my dream."

"It's a simple question Braginsky. Just say the damn answer!"

Of course he knew what Ivan was going to say. What he wanted to say anyways. But he needed to hear him say the horrible truth. Maybe he would prefer the lie, Yao was sure he could make himself believe in it eventually.

Ivan snarled. "If I wasn't a famous racer, I doubt you'd even sleep with me in the first place. Look, why are we fighting? " His hand toyed with the strings on Yao's boxers. "How about we do it tonight? Hmm? We haven't done it in so long."

Maybe he said no, maybe he said yes, he couldn't remember. What happened next was their bodies coming together in the most animalistic way. The moans, the wet sound of the thrusts, and the squeaking bed formed a vulgar symphony for the savages.

After they were finished, Yao got up from the bed. Ivan told him he could take a shower in the morning, it was late and he should go to sleep. However Yao pulled on his pants, and said, "I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

His legs felt a little sore, and he walked away with limpness in his steps. Ivan didn't call him back. And among all those marks on his body and heart, that one was the most painful.

* * *

"You want me to what?!" Ivan was attempting to control the volume of his voice, but he found it difficult to be reasonable at this moment.

"You heard me," Yao responded coolly. "I don't want you to keep going back to the racetracks."

"Okay Yao, I don't have time to play your games. We can continue this conversation when I come back." Ivan grabbed the jacket from the closest. He was reaching for the scarf, but decided against it.

"Ivan Braginsky, look at me."

Ivan sighed and turned to face the Chinese man. "We went over this before. And I told you many times how much my career means to me."

"But you were injured!" His arms were crossed and his face stone-cold. "You could have lost your life."

"It was a small accident, things like that happen all the time."

"Because it happens all the time, that's why I don't want you to go back!" Yao clenched his teeth. It seemed he cared about Ivan more than Ivan cared about himself. Idiot.

"Did you watch those YouTube compilation videos about racecars crushing again? Is that why you're so paranoid?" Ivan said with aggravation. "I've been doing this for over twenty years now, I know the risks."

"Then are you waiting for the day when you would actually be killed?! Is that what you're waiting for?!"

"If my death can bring me the glory that my life never had, then be it!" Ivan snapped.

Yao stared at him in shock. "How…can you say that?" He shook his head slowly. "How dare you throw away your life this easily..."

"This life means nothing to me if I can't win."

Yao regretted ever meeting him. He regretted coming back for a second night; for if he had never cared about him, he wouldn't have to endure through this constant fear of him disappearing from his life.

"Your life…means nothing to you…?" Yao repeated his words as if they would make more sense to him if he said them out loud himself. They didn't. "Do you realize what you're saying? You think that winning and glory would matter after you're dead? There's nothing after death! There's no eternal sunset! Your life isn't a stupid song!"

His hands were curled up into fists. "You don't know anything…" he uttered calmly with rage. A storm was brewing.

"No, you don't know anything. You don't know how much you…." _Mean to me_. He couldn't finish his sentence. _Ivan you know I love you right?_

"No matter how many times I told you, you still don't understand," Ivan said resentfully. "My whole life was centered on this single entity. My father spent the family fortune just so I could have a chance to fairly compete with everyone else. For so many years, right from when I was nine years old, I had only one thing to fight for. I lived on the race tracks my entire goddamn life! You think I don't want to have a normal life with you? But what could I do besides racing?! This is the only fucking life I know! Of course you wouldn't understand how I feel…YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO BE PASSIONATE ABOUT SOMETHING! YOU HATE YOUR JOB, YOU HATE YOUR FRIENDS, YOU HATE YOUR FAMILY, AND YOU HATE YOURSELF! YOU NEVER CARED ABOUT ANYTHING!"

His voice rose above the ceiling and reached beyond the walls. Their Pandora boxes opened and what came out of them shattered both of their hearts into a million pieces. His face brightened, a shade of crimson on his ivory complexion. Ivan breathed heavily, surprised by his own outburst of emotions. When he saw the expressionless look on Yao's face, he wanted to slap himself. What had he just done.

Yao blinked slowly. His eyes had a deadness, a stillness. "You're quite right Ivan," he spoke with the calmness of a desolated wasteland. "I never felt passionate towards life. While other people knew what drove them forward, I had nothing. I studied hard in school because my parents wanted me to, so I did what was required of me. It wasn't intelligence or anything that put me in the top ten percent, it was just determination and hard-work. But I lacked passion, I didn't love science, math or any subjects. So there were always people better than me. People who truly loved what they were learning. My life was decided for me by my parents, the choices were becoming a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. It didn't matter to me because I didn't know what I wanted to be, so I chose engineer. Everyone around me loved something; they were inspired by the world, and I…I couldn't find the muse in anything…Except people… I placed my heart in people, Ivan. What a tragedy that is, for the people I cared always left me."

"Yao…" He was afraid to speak.

"Listen. I couldn't find passion in my world, but I found it in people. And yes Ivan, you could probably guess where they are now. They left me. I was never enough compared to what they truly loved. So I learned from my mistakes. I didn't want to put my energy into another person again. But of course, here we stand… what do you think about that? The man you thought to be a cold man turned out to be the one who loved you. I love you. Are you that surprised? Were you that blind? Or did you just not believe in it since I never said it enough times for you? I love you, I love you, I love you! Are you happy now?! DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW? THAT I LOVE YOU? "

His eyes were a knife in Ivan's ribs, the sharp point digging deeper with every word. They were two cowards who loved. Afraid to be wrong, afraid to get hurt, they dug their own grave.

The blood drained from his face, and Ivan felt his insides tear. "I love you too…" he whispered.

Yao shook his head. "Let's end this. We're both tired right? All we done when we first met was to fuck, and now all we did these past months was fighting. Almost five years now… From a one night stand to five years." He chuckled. "Admit it, we surprised ourselves. Ivan Braginsky… you should have let me go that morning. No, I should have left before you even woke up."

"Why didn't you…" His throat was dry, and he choked on his last word.

Yao smiled at him. The same smile he always wore. "Because I wondered about the possibility of _us_."

Ivan closed his eyes as his body trembled. He couldn't look at him as he walked away. He felt him passing by his shoulder, and he heard the door closed behind him.

Five years…Was that all they could have? If he prayed harder every night, would Yao still be in this room right now? If they had met under different circumstances, would they have been more honest with one another?

 _All alone in this ride, my only wish was for my man to be by my side._

That was always his favorite part of the song wasn't it?

Ivan stayed rooted in the spot, frozen, and detached. One second. Two second. Three second. Where was Yao now? Ivan didn't know how long time passed, but he knew it was long enough for Yao to be a stranger once more.

" _Goodbye," Yao said as he slowly took his lips off and lifted himself up from Ivan's broad chest. Ivan watched him as he climbed out of the bed, put on his pants and buttoned up his shirt. The racer wanted to say something…anything. But no words no came. The stranger didn't look back once as he gathered his stuff and walked out of the hotel room. What was his name? Ivan couldn't remember. He guessed it didn't matter since it was just a one night stand. But strangely enough, he wondered if he should have said something, should have stopped him from leaving. This grief was unnatural so Ivan shrugged it off carelessly. Yet he couldn't stop but to look at the closed door. Goodbye, he thought. Maybe in another world I didn't let you go._

He couldn't let him go.

The world seemed to slow down as he turned and ran out of the door. He couldn't even feel his feet on the floor, couldn't feel his heartbeat, but he knew he was chasing after more years with Yao. Five was not enough, nor six nor seven. He chased after _forever._

The elevator opened in front of Yao, but before he even had a chance to take a step, he fell on the ground from the impact behind him. Ivan held him with his heart and soul, with his arms wrapped around him the racer started to cry.

"P-please…Yao…" Tears spilled down from his face dampening Yao's shirt. "Don't leave please…"

Yao's lips trembled and his shoulders heaved with emotions. "Let me go…Ivan…" he whispered painfully. "What future is there for us? What possibility is there aside from our departure from one another?" His dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears, his hands clenched into shaking fists.

"Let's get married," Ivan uttered though his sobs. "Marry me Yao."

* * *

He worried about him constantly. Videos of racecars crushing overwhelmed his vision every time he saw the rows of racecars dashing over the racetracks. The roaring crowd became statics in his ears, almost like bees buzzing, it wouldn't stop.

Their story began on the racetracks, with him sitting in the audience seat, and him behind the wheels.

And this was where their story would come to an end.

Yao couldn't bear to look anymore. The dread crept down his spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk. He felt its feet on his skin, descending until he was frozen to the spot. His stomach was full of lead; His feet were set in concrete; His mind plagued by fear.

Every little unexpected movement of the racecar unnerved him. So many things could go wrong in so little time. He was deathly afraid of the endless possibilities.

His last race. That was what he had promised him. After this race, no matter if he won or not, he would retire.

Yao swallowed as the countdown began towards the finish line. He was almost there. Please.

Don't let anything happen to h-

He saw the future before it ever occurred.

 _An approaching train. Like any good nightmare it doesn't matter where you run because it keeps on coming just the same. As time runs out your feet become heavier until they are set in concrete on the tracks. And then all you can do is wait to be destroyed, wait to be nothing more than blood and bone fragments._

His pupils became dilated, his mouth opened into a silent scream, and his blood turned cold.

There was an explosion, and the racecar bursted into flame. The once pale blue sky was now shielded by a veil of darkness as the smoke swallowed up the whole sky.

Were fire and death what he saw in the burning lights of the fireworks?

 _TBC._

* * *

AN: Actually THE END! Hahaha just kidding (or am I?), my friend will kill me if I just end it here. No promises to Ivan's wellbeing :x, but there will be one more chapter after this to wrap everything up...

On a more serious note, I hope this chapter held up to your expectation T.T


	5. Chapter 5

AN: F!I!N!A!L!L!Y!

*Ilya is the name of Yao's first love/ex-boyfriend/head-cannon name for Soviet Union.

This chapter is written with a disoriented feel to it to reflect Yao's state of mind. I'll apologize in advance for the quality of writing because I haven't written fiction in so long.

And thank you for sticking with this story until the end.

* * *

Fire and blood mingled in the blinding explosion. It was as though a fist of orange flame had decided to punch its way out of the race car. Windows shattered. Screams erupted throughout the stadium. The hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, that awful gulfing whirlpool of horror that was laid out in front of him; these terrible sensations all served to color his world momentarily in white.

Yao felt death on the tip of his tongue. An unshakeable feeling of dread settled its vast weight upon his heart. He could not see. He could not hear. He could not sense any part of his body. Soon it was apparent that he could not even find the strength in his lungs to breath.

Oh, but damn the restrictions of reality. Like a blade piercing through his skull, the mortal world returned to him in its flaming glory.

The Asian man surveyed the crowds with his empty eyes - pupils reflecting the blaze of mass hysteria tainted with hints of confusion, eyelashes the shade of coal fluttered in the breezes clothed by smoke. Where was he?

Yao did not comprehend the scene unfolding within his vision. He could not understand what he was doing in this place and time. There seemed to be an accident of some sort, someone important seemed to be gravely injured. But why was he here? What did he have to do with any of these? Searching for a trace of clue in the frenzied crowds below, instead of his eyes, it was his ears that first caught glimpses of what was forgotten.

 _Please remain calm and move away from the tracks! Oh my lord, is he okay? Holy shit dude, did you get that on camera? Was that Braginsky? Is Braginsky going to be okay after that? You think Ivan Braginsky is dead? Ivan Braginsky. Ivan Braginsky. IVAN BRAGINSKY. IVAN BRAGINSKY._

I-Iv-Ivan…Bragin…what? That name, why did it sound so familia-

 _Ah I see_. Yao let out a half-muffled laugh. _Of course._

Fireworks ruptured into brilliant sparks in the evening sky. Ice cubes drowning in glass of vodka. A maroon-red hotel room whose noises are overshadowed by the cries of cicadas outside the window. A white scarf on an autumn day binding two people like the red string of fate. A simple request of a smile that was refused. The decision between his heart and dream that ended with the door closed behind him. A marriage proposal uttered through tears. Of course…It had always been him, that racer boy who became his _everything_.

Slowly, his legs found the resolution to move one step at a time. They appeared weak to support his upper body, yet they continued to push through the opposing current of people.

"Ivan…" Yao whispered in an almost inaudible plead. Bodies upon bodies were shoved against him, yet one name rung thunderously propelling him forward. As he bumped into strangers one after another, they glanced at him as if he was crazy. "Let me go through…please…" Yao mumbled. "I need to see him…" But whether his words never left his throat or that they were obscured by the deafening public panic, no one listened to the man struggling to get down.

He had to see him. Ivan had to be alright. But Yao knew it was impossible to emerge unscathed from the fire. _What if Ivan…There was no way he could be alive_ … _He's_ …dead… _No! No he can't be_. Ivan had to be okay. He couldn't afford to imagine a future without him. "Get out of my way!" He shouted while his steps gained more momentum. He could very well feel the ground beneath him, the tension within his muscles, the pressure put upon his ribcage, but they were all evidence of him being alive. _That's right_. Even if he had to use up his last breath, he was not going to let go of that man.

" **Ivan Braginsky**!" A wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, cried out through the depth of the storming red sea.

"Sir! You cannot be in this area right now!" Strangers in black suits stopped and blocked him as the racer was being carried by the paramedics into the ambulance. Yao could faintly remember what those men were suppose to be doing, they were policemen right? But it did not matter. No one mattered except for one person.

"Please let me see him! You don't understand-"

"I'm sorry sir. You have to step away from here! Only authorized personnel are allowed-"

Yao interrupted. "No! No, please let me get through! I'm a family member, I'm his-"

"Sir! Step away, right this instant! I will not repeat myself again!"

"I'M HIS HUSBAND."

Yao was stunned by his own voice. It was an odd thing; hearing a voice full of fury and desperation, utterly anomalous yet human, a sound that came from beyond his outer shell of consciousness. "I'm…I'm his husband," Yao repeated with more composure, ignoring the pitiful stare of the officer. "Please help me…I need to…help him, please help him."

The officer was at a loss for words. What a pitiful man, he thought, but there was nothing he could do for him. "Umm…sir," he muttered tentatively. "I'm so sorry for your…loss. But if you could please step aside-"

"Yao? What are you doing here?!"

Yao looked up and found the source of the voice. "Oh it's you, hi Natalya."

What happened after was a blur of events in which Yao could not recall how he ended up on the hospital bench. If he tried to concentrate real hard, he could see scattered images with no clear correlations to one another. Natalya must have drove him to the hospital, and during the ride, she must have asked him many times about how he was holding up. Yao didn't remember his answers; he hoped he didn't give the poor girl a hard time. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. _Ivan is a fighter, we all have to believe in him._ She seemed to have said something along those lines, but Yao wasn't sure who that was meant to comfort. Then what? Right…they arrived at the hospital. Medical staff dressed in white resembling the angels of death; evasive bright lights that shone too hard to scream warmth; and the scent of freshly sprayed bleach, Yao could feel his intestines being twisted into knots.

 _The nurses hurried through the double doors, the wheels of the stretcher and his pounding footsteps were the only thing he could hear. "Mr. Wang, you have to wait here." The surgeon stopped him apologetically with her gloved hand. His heart sunk into his chest as the stretcher disappeared from his view._

" _Is he going to be alright?" This was all he could choke out, as his mind became filled with a succession of horrible outcomes each worse than the last._

" _I promise you, we will do what we can."_

 _Yao noticed how she avoided looking at him in the eyes. He fell flat onto the plastic bench while the image of red burnt marks covering the racer's entire body haunted his every breath._

* * *

This wasn't his first time being in a hospital. Although he was not accustomed to getting sick often, the memories of the times he was in a hospital carved its marks on him. When his younger sister, Mei, was just five years old, she came down with a horrible case of pneumonia. Even though they told him it wasn't his fault, he knew his father held him responsible. He never looked at him the same after that incident. That accusing stare was something he could never forget. _You let your own sister wander outside in that weather?! B-but daddy she wanted to play in the snow…_ _I can't believe you are so irresponsible!_ Yao could still remember the long night at the hospital waiting for his sister's fate. He must be the world's worst brother, he remembered feeling that way. A murderer; a murderer who killed his own sister, the little boy thought. And so he prayed and prayed to whoever was listening to please save his little sister. He promised to be a good boy. If his sister lived through that night, he would be a good boy until the day he died. And it seemed like whoever was listening did fulfill his wish. Of course, many years later Yao didn't believe in those things anymore. He also stopped being a _good_ boy.

Maybe everything that had happened was because I couldn't hold up on my end of the promise, Yao thought bitterly. When did things start to go so wrong? Was it that man? That man who left him in utter despair? But he shouldn't blame him for his own stupid mistakes. He shouldn't have fallen for him in the first place. He shouldn't have fallen so deep that it became impossible to crawl out of love. After that person disappeared from his side, he sought to destroy himself inside and out. He made stupid…stupid…mistakes. He was so stupid. A stupid little boy who never learned. Night after night, his body rotted away. Substituting oxygen with the air of alcohol, stimulants, and sex, he could no longer find his landing. In that ecstasy of self-destruction, he could almost believe he was flying. This poor fool thought he was flying, but, in fact, he was in free fall, and he just didn't know it yet because the ground was so far away, but, of course, the craft was doomed to crash. What a stupid boy.

On those nights, people did unbelievable things to him, and he let them. There was such joy in pain, such pleasure found in dehumanizing debauchery. He wanted to cry, but he could only remember laughing in dim-lighted rooms made hazy by cigarette smoke. No matter how many bruises appeared on his body, or how he could never wash that disgusting scent off himself, he wanted, needed, to feel more. He wanted to die. Why couldn't anybody kill him. After all that damage they inflicted on him, he still managed to limp home during the dark side of the mornings. It was only when he collapsed in one of the back alleyways among vermin and cigarette butts that he realized no matter what he did, Ilya* was never coming back.

Then he cried like the stupid little boy he was.

If it weren't for a homeless beggar, he would have been dead. For better or worse, Yao woke up seeing his body connected by tubes and breathing through an oxygen mask. He wanted to die, but he finally knew that he wanted to live more. He didn't want to die in some back alley, dying for a man who left him. Even without him realizing, his prayer was answered once again. He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve a second chance. Someone else should have been saved instead of him, but maybe everything happens for no reason at all.

For years he lived as normal as could be imagined. He lived simply for the sake of living. _They come and go, and that's fine._ Yao told himself, _no meetings are complete without departures._ Life went by without any riptides, and that was exactly how he planned to live out the rest of his days. Until-

The sport channel was on, the volume was turned down low since the man did not care for what was displaying on the television. But once in a while, he did glance up from his chores to the flickering screen. Oh car-racing. Wasn't Alfred doing something like that? NASCART? Wait no, it was NAS…CAR? Well it didn't matter. It didn't concern him. In one of those fleeting moments where his eyes glanced at the screen, he saw a face he never thought he would see again. His body froze, his heart slowed and stopped, he held his breath as that man on the television screen looked directly into the camera. Directly at him. Then after what seemed like an eternity, Yao chuckled to himself. Of course that wasn't him. The man on the television had younger features, broader bone structures, brighter eyes, lighter hair, and a much gentler smile. How did he ever think they were the same person? However despite of such differences, Yao couldn't help but to wonder about the stranger. _Ivan Braginsky huh…_

* * *

Now back in the hospital where miracles were once fulfilled, there was only one thing on his mind. Please save Ivan Braginsky, Yao prayed. He couldn't remember the last time he prayed, but if there was any higher power out there among the stars, please help him one more time. Save Ivan Braginsky. He wasn't supposed to be here, Yao thought, I was. _They are my sins, not his. He has so much more to live for, he has a dream, he has more to give to the world…please I'd do anything…please give him back. He doesn't deserve this. Take me instead. I was supposed to die all those years ago._ He prayed to whoever that saved Mei, to whoever that saved him. Yao begged and begged in his prayers for a man whose life was more important than anything else. He never even told him how happy he made him feel, he never showed how much he loved him. There was so much more he wanted to tell him, so many memories they could have made together. _Til' death_ _do us apart right? Don't go Ivan…please…please stay._

Beep. Beep. Beep. The life support sang its tragic melody.

 _Anything, I'll do anything to trade for his life. Please let him live. Please…please…please._

Beep. Beep.

 _There were so_ _many things I never said._

Beep.

 _Ivan, I love you._

The sound fell flat. The doctor came out of the operating room and shook his head.

* * *

 _The sun is a radiant, all-watching eye, its light creeping into every corner, bathing the whole world in a warm glow. Time passes slower now, but that is just fine with them. After spending a life-time with each other, they still have not gotten tired of the accompaniment. They sit in oak rocking chairs next to one another, soaking in the afternoon's bless. The older of the two hums a tune of long forgotten days, his finest memories playing in his aged yet tranquil mind._

 _"We drove fast and died young. Crashing into the gray smoke, I rode into the eternal sunset," the old man softly spoke. "All alone in this ride, my only wish was for my man to be by my side…Ah I can't recall what comes after that verse, do you remember Vanya?"_

 _Beside him, the man smiled faintly, the scars of old burnt marks glistened beneath wrinkled skin, "What? Sunset doesn't come until another few hours."_

 _"I mean the song. You remember that song?"_

 _"No, I don't think I know such song," he tilted his head to the side._

 _"Well, it's strange isn't it?" His eyes twinkled despite they could no longer see very clear. "I know these words, yet I can't remember where and when I heard it from…Strange indeed...My only wish was for my man to be by my side." He repeated the last line again._

 _"I'm here Yao-Yao," he said with his few dazzling teeth shining a fresh white gleam._

 _"I know," he replied._

 _When they reach the story's conclusion and the old lovers after long years together in peace and harmony have turned to oak and linden, sunset slowly gives way to the dark, but warmth remains eternally._

* * *

The world breathed in utter silence. In that soundless void, darkness was the only occupant quietly roaming the unseen corners. Far off the distance, something perspired. A droplet suspended in air before sending ripples across the darkness. Then he opened his eyes.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Yao blinked, waiting for his eyes and ears to adjust to the pounding music and orange lights. "Yeah, I'm…" His voice sounded dry and hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in a long time. "I'm alright."

The racer regarded the stranger sitting beside him with mild curiosity. Just when he thought that the man was another fan hitting on him, he had fallen into a deep silence. His eyes looked as if they were seeing something that was not in the room, something that Ivan couldn't possibly understand.

He waited for the stranger to say something, but the Asian man's lips were sealed. In fact, he didn't look in the racer's direction, not even once.

Swallowing the last drop of the burning liquid, Ivan stood up and was just about to leave when the stranger spoke.

"The memories are all fainting away…I can't see them clearly anymore…" He mumbled. "Wait, don't go yet Ivan, I'll buy you another drink."

"How do you know-" Ivan paused. "Wait, that's a silly question."

"Everyone here knows who you are," he answered plainly. Still he didn't look at the racer as Ivan sat down cautiously on his seat, carefully observing him. "Can I ask you something?" He took silence as a reply. "If you know the future, how will you live your present?"

Ivan narrowed his eyes at the peculiar question, but decided to humor him anyway. "No one knows the future."

"But what _if_ ," the stranger pressed. "If you could see your life ahead, would you change things?"

"Maybe I would say what I felt more often."

The black-haired man looked surprised. Then his lips broke into the outline of a smile. He shifted his head towards the racer, and Ivan's heart stopped.

"Forgive me, I don't think we ever had a proper introduction."

~FIN~

* * *

AN: The ending is up to you to decide what happened. Maybe this entire story was made up in Yao's mind as he feared opening up to another person and getting himself hurt again. Or maybe a miracle truly happened and he was sent back to the night where they first met and he was given a choice to change the future. _Maybe it would be better if they remained strangers forever_. But in the end he still chose a life with Ivan no matter what the future may be.

Thank you for reading this when I, myself, have given up on it at one point. Thank you so much. I hope it has been a joy for you to read as much as I enjoyed writing this.


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